


One Man Army

by thechaoscryptid



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sword Art Online Fusion, Developing Relationship, Light Angst, M/M, the rest of the paladins are there, with a happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:47:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29114001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thechaoscryptid/pseuds/thechaoscryptid
Summary: Caught in the grip of a new and virtual reality, Keith doesn’t expect to find friends. He doesn’t expect to have time for them, but day by day, meal by meal, a paladin named Shiro is determined to prove him wrong.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Kudos: 23
Collections: Sheith Cookbook





	One Man Army

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the All Good Things Cookbook!

It’s funny, how quickly the world can drop out from under your feet. In the span of a few breaths, ten thousand peoples’ lives are irrevocably changed by the announcement they’re not going home until they’ve cleared every level of Galra Tech’s new MMORPG, Interdimensional Rifts. There’s always been madness in their drive to be the best in the business, but this—Zarkon’s voice echoing through the main square as he tells players they’ve moved past  _ virtual  _ reality and into the living world—is flat out  _ insanity.  _

The first few days pass in a haze of tears and anger from the players around him as Keith attempts to puzzle out any way to wake up. He tests his limits in the fields around the first floor, Arus, and when he manages to hack his way to the floor’s boss, he takes it down with little difficulty. 

_ This,  _ he can understand. He can get behind fighting his way through adversity, because that’s what he’s always done. The knowledge and skills from the beta test months ago come in handy and he finds himself quickly rising to the top of the rankings, the face of the crusade to clear levels.

When someone asks him why he’s so insistent on pushing himself this way, his answer is simple. “I’ve never done well with being trapped,” he says, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. “We need to get out.”

Allies come and go in the early weeks, months, until things even out and more people begin to rally behind the sentiment. Keith is able to fade into the background once more. He remains in the dark, in his comfort zone, as he does his best to save all the people he can. There’s a few he could consider  _ friends,  _ if he were here for such a thing, a group of paladins who’ve taken it upon themselves to pester him at every possible opportunity.

He begins to make a habit of getting to arenas early and leaving before they can catch up with him. It’s not that he  _ wants  _ to be so standoffish. 

He just can’t afford to get lost in other people if he’s going to get whoever he can out alive.

**

“Here, take this.” After a particularly vicious battle, one of the paladins—Shiro—catches Keith and pushes a wrapped package into his hands. They sit outside the dungeon, a small smile tugging on his lips at Keith’s cocked brow. “It’s not any sort of trick, I promise. Hunk and I made them.”

Keith snorts. “So not only are you a legend on the battlefield, you’re domestic, too? Jack of all trades?”

“On the contrary.” Shiro chuckles and leans back, knitting his hands behind his head in the grass. “Just doing what it takes to keep myself sane in here.”

“By feeding the other players.”

Shiro’s eyes slip shut as his grin widens. “I figure it’s a win-win. It humbles me, and maybe others will help us out when we’re in a bind. We’re all in it together, after all.”

“Yeah,” Keith says, picking at the thick slices of tomato and bread that have no business looking as delicious as they do. It feels almost like the real thing as he bites into it, chewing nothing more than pixels as he stares into the distant mountains of the Altean floor. “Yeah, I guess we are.”

Pushing himself up on one elbow, Shiro pokes Keith’s arm. “So what’s your name? I mean, like, your  _ real  _ name. I figure after helping you—not that you needed it, how are you  _ so  _ powerful already?—by taking down that robeast, it’d earn me that.”

Instead of answering, Keith takes a larger bite, and on his third, he hits something that’s a lot like  _ chicken.  _ It’s marinated in something heavenly, and he can’t hold back the small, appreciative moan as he swallows. “Oh my god,” he says.  _ “How  _ is this so good?”   
“Nice to meet you, Oh My God,” Shiro teases.

Keith shoves at his shoulder, freezing a split second later when he realizes just how familiar he’s being. Pulling back, he mumbles, “It’s Yorak.” And then, “Well, in-game, which you know. Outside it’s Keith.” He extends the hand not holding the sandwich. “I’m Keith.”

“What brings you  _ alone  _ to the thirteenth floor, Keith?” Shiro asks. He gives a firm shake before laying back again, throwing his arm carelessly over his eyes. Keith takes the moment of sightlessness to shove more of the sandwich into his mouth. It’s a bit ridiculous—it’s not as though he  _ needs  _ the sustenance, but the simple act of eating after a battle just seems  _ right.  _ “You weren’t planning on taking all the floors by yourself, were you?”   
“Easier that way. I’ve always been a solo player.” Keith unwraps more of the sandwich and attacks it. “And, um…” He shrugs. “I haven’t found a guild I want to join yet.”

“Well.” Shiro sits up and claps Keith on the back before getting to his feet. He cuts an imposing figure, with the scar across his nose and white fringe reddened by the setting sun, and Keith thinks perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to see his face more often. 

“We just formed an  _ actual  _ guild,” Shiro continues, “if you’re ever looking to enlist. We’d love to have someone of your caliber with us.”

“And you called it  _ Voltron,”  _ Keith laughs. “I heard.”

“That one exactly,” Shiro says proudly. “Word gets around quick, it seems.”

“Oh, please, who  _ hasn’t  _ heard of a weird name like that?” Keith asks. Then, softer, “I don’t think I’d be a good fit, but thanks anyway.”

A rogue, after all, has very little in common with a paladin’s light and vitality.

“I beg to differ, and I’m kind of the one in charge.” Shiro gives him another stunning smile, and Keith’s a mere half-second from grabbing for him as he turns to walk away. “If you’re ever in the city, feel free to come to our headquarters and take a look around. I promise we’d be good for you.”

Keith says nothing, only watches as Shiro walks on toward the horizon. As much as he’d like to, he doubts he’ll actually take up the offer. It’s always been him against the world, and he tells himself good food and a scarred face can’t be enough to make him change his ways.

It  _ won’t  _ be.

**

Maybe.

**

_ It won’t,  _ he thinks as he fights with Shiro and the rest of Voltron against floor twenty-seven’s boss, another quintessence powered robeast. It takes out three players, and it’s the first time Keith sees Shiro truly angry at the circumstances that always surround their meetings.

**

The next time they meet, it’s outside Olkarion, where Pidge is meeting one of their informants. Keith tells himself it’s not because he and Shiro seem to have developed this orbit around each other, one that pulls them together whenever they’re on the same floor. It’s  _ Shiro  _ who always seeks him out, anyhow, but Keith can’t quite figure out if it’s for his skills or his company. 

The whole guild invites him out after Pidge is finished, and with Shiro’s puppy eyes trained on him, Keith can’t say no.   
“So,” Lance says, darting around the guild hall’s dining room. “That combo you pulled the other day was pretty sweet. Where’d you learn a trick like that? Is it easy? Oh! I heard you were, you know—” he lowers his voice, “—one of the betas.” His eyes flick to Allura, in the corner nursing a drink, and he continues to whisper loudly. “Hey, teach me. Pretty sure Allura’d love it, you know?”

“Get off him, Lance,” Pidge says, hoisting their feet into his abandoned seat with a sigh. “He just gets excited,” they continue. “He’s harmless, I promise.”

“Hey!”

Keith finds himself giving them a hesitant smile as he brings his spoon to his lips. He’d helped this time, chopping vegetables and kneading dough under Hunk’s careful supervision. It’s not something he’s sure he’d ever be able to recreate back in the real world, truly delicious—a rich tomato soup served in a bowl of bread, cheese browned to a perfect crisp on top. There’s fried yalmor piled high on a tray in the middle of the table, made from the animal Keith had netted this morning while practicing forms in the fields. He doesn’t  _ purposefully  _ put himself in Shiro’s orbit, no. He’s still a solo player.

But maybe, just maybe, having some friends here isn’t so bad.

**

When Keith’s with Shiro, it’s easy to forget the stakes. He loses his inhibitions during their late nights by the fire in the guild hall, lets himself be taken in by the way Shiro’s fingers lace with his and the way his heart beats faster when Shiro leans over his shoulder as they’re strategizing with Allura. 

The day Shiro offers up the fact the rest of the paladins will be out doing things and they can be alone is the day Keith admits to himself that he’s falling hard. He teaches Shiro to make the soup as Hunk taught him, pressed close to his side. He’s helpless to resist the way Shiro worms himself into his heart, if he’s being honest, and he finds he doesn’t mind the fact. They share the kitchen, knives out and stories flying back and forth until Keith feels the press of Shiro’s lips against his forehead.

He seeks out Shiro’s mouth in return, and this new world becomes that much brighter.

**

They’re seven more floors in and beginning to flag when Keith begins to hear the whispers.

_ The Black Swordsman’s joined with Voltron. _

_ I hear he’s got Shiro’s ear, gives him information to advance them faster. _

_ Pity, he was clearing levels quicker on his own. _

_ Maybe he doesn’t want to help us anymore. _

He tells himself it doesn’t matter, but one night when he’s watching the sunset with Shiro and a bowl of soup, he puts his head in his hands and asks. “Shiro?”

“Hm?”

“Do you—you still want to get out of here, right?”   
Shiro nods, but Keith can feel how he tenses. “Of course,” he says. “Why?”

“Just wondering.”

“I mean, shouldn’t we all?” Shiro asks. He breaks off a piece of crust and dips it, stabbing quite a bit harder than he needs to before he sets his tray down and puts his chin on folded knees. “I guess it’s just harder to think about going back when things are so…” He pauses, chews on the words for a bit. “Can I tell you something?”   
Keith nods and, when he sees Shiro’s crestfallen face, leans into his side. “Shoot.”

“I don’t have a lot to go home to,” Shiro says softly. “It’s just been study, study, study since my parents passed. I was going for astrophysics in university.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“As stupid as it sounds, being trapped here has felt like I can  _ breathe  _ for the first time in years,” Shiro says, followed by a wry chuckle. “Really dumb, huh?”   
Keith does his best not to let the sudden stiffness in him show. “At least we have lives to go home to,” he says, slow and even. “It would be pretty terrible to die in here.”

“Yeah! Yeah, yeah, of course,” Shiro says, too quickly for Keith’s taste. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t take the time to enjoy ourselves.” He elbows Keith’s side. “You put too much pressure on yourself, you know.”

“I’m just doing what it takes to get everyone home,” Keith says.

Shiro picks up his soup again, pulling away, and Keith mourns the warmth, even if it’s just a simulation. “We all are, Keith,” he says. “Don’t forget that.”

“But there are  _ kids  _ in here, Sh—”

“Drop it.”

“Don’t you think it’s selfish not to try and get through this as quick as we can?” Keith asks, and Shiro’s silence is deafening as night falls in earnest.

“I think that if clearing levels is all this is to you, then your world must be pretty sad,” Shiro says eventually. Starlight shines down on his eyes as he looks to the skies, avoiding Keith’s gaze. “We’re all in this together, and we all want to get out, but that doesn’t mean we’re inhuman. We still need each other.”

“Yeah,” Keith says, but that’s all he manages. They sit in silence until the food disappears into bright, rainbow shards, and when he leaves, he doesn’t go back to the guild hall. He gets himself a room in Olkarion for the night because he’s  _ hurt,  _ and there’s too much to think about to risk being in the fields for the night.

Maybe he really was right.

Friendships won’t save him.

**

He’d be lying if he said he doesn’t still think about joining up with Voltron. He hasn’t been back since that night four weeks ago, has been ignoring Shiro’s messages because he can’t afford distractions. He misses it, though—Lance’s brashness, Hunk’s warmth, Pidge’s insightfulness…

Shiro’s presence, generally.

Keith desperately misses Shiro smiling about everything and nothing, but smiles won’t get them home any faster, and Daibazaal seems to discourage the action at all. Black spires rise to the sky above, draped in deep purple banners that flutter in a manufactured breeze. There are no other decorations—the Blade of Marmora guild hall is strictly utilitarian, much like their tactics.

He’s kept an eye on the Blades ever since the first weeks in Interdimensional Rifts and though he can’t say he  _ enjoys  _ the way they play, he can’t deny they’ve kept neck-and-neck with him and Voltron.

“With me,” Regris says, cocking his head to the door. “Kolivan doesn’t like to be kept waiting, not with another raid looming.”

“We could wait,” Keith says. He tips his head back as they pass through the arching doors, their footsteps echoing on the deep grey floors of the main hall. “You’ve seen me in action. What’s one more raid without me pledging?”   
Regris shoots him a look.

“All I’m saying is that formalities could’ve been put off until we’ve cleared the floor,” Keith says, quieter as they approach the long table at the far end of the room. “Our time could be better spent preparing, rather than taking oaths.”

And really, he’s still a bit unsure this is the right decision.

“You’ll be a sorry fit for us if you think our oaths don’t mean much,” Regris whispers harshly.

“Hey, I—”

“Regris,” a low, growling voice says, interrupting Keith’s protestations. A large man clad in the same black suit as the rest of the Blades unfolds himself from a chair and walks over, towering over Keith and Regris both. “This is him?”

“Yorak,” Keith says by way of introduction. “We’ve run into each other a few times during raids.” He sticks out a hand and meets the Blade leader’s gaze, unwilling to back down or let his shoulders sink under the weight of his stare. “I hear you’re the person to talk to about joining the guild.”

“Kolivan,” the man answers, “and you’ve heard correctly.” He gives Keith’s hand a brief shake before turning away, beckoning both other men to the table. “I’ve been impressed with what I’ve seen from you, Yorak. We’ve been watching. What made you decide to join us?”

Keith could give any number of reasons, but leans back in his chair and rests his hands on his knees. “There are people dying here, and we need to focus on that,” he says. He sets his jaw against Shiro’s voice in the back of his mind, whispering he’s going about this wrong, and forges ahead. “I understand my fighting style isn’t as collaborative as yours, but we both stand to benefit from joining forces. I wouldn’t have to worry about taking on higher levels alone, and you wouldn’t have to worry about your reputation being shaken when I beat you to the punch.”

There are several long beats of silence where he thinks he’s  _ wildly  _ miscalculated his strategy, but then Kolivan gives him a terse smile and huffs a laugh. “We aren’t here to maintain a reputation,” he says.  _ “However,  _ you are correct about safety in numbers. It would be a shame to lose someone with such skill, especially if we could prevent that from happening. Antok!”

Another Blade breaks from the cluster to their right and walks over. “Sir?”

“Your thoughts on Yorak aligning with us.”

Antok glances at Keith appraisingly, sizing him up before turning to Kolivan. “We could use him,” he says. “Perhaps on a trial run at first.”

Keith nods, lowers his eyes. “I’m willing to do what it takes,” he says. It feels like betrayal, knowing he’s all but pulling the rug out from under Voltron, but Regris was right to tell him there was a time and place for those sorts of alliances. They’re useful, but not of the utmost importance here. Perhaps when everything’s said and done and they’re back in reality, he can take the time to meet and  _ know  _ the paladins.

Until then, he has his tasks.

Survive, and push his own feelings aside to do so.

**

Pidge’s look of hurt upon seeing him in a Blade uniform is heart-wrenching.

**

Allura simply brushing him off after a battle instead of telling him job well done hurts, too.

**

When Hunk doesn’t even look at him after watching him take down the Yalex on level fifty-eight, he goes back to his room in Daibazaal and sits with his head in his hands until the sun rises in the morning. He reads through Shiro’s messages that night, watching the transition from  _ I’m sorry  _ to  _ I miss you  _ to  _ sorry things didn’t work out. _

He might not  _ need  _ them, but life without them just isn’t the same.

He just doesn’t know how to go back after all he’s abandoned.

**

Shiro finally catches him six weeks, eight levels later. Keith wants nothing more than to crawl into his bed and forget about the way Regris had splintered to pieces under a vicious blow of the spectral ray’s tail. He shrugs off Shiro’s hand, warm on his shoulder, and nods once when Shiro asks if he’s all right. “Part of the game, right?” he says, wry and disappointed under the endless sky.

“Keith…”

“It’s Yorak,” Keith mutters. “I’m sorry, Shiro, it’s just better this way. Let’s just—can we—” He shakes his head and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m not part of Voltron anymore, okay? You don’t need to concern yourself with me.”

They’d never put a name on things anyway, and it’ll be easier to handle what seems to be their inevitable demise if neither of them remains invested in the feelings between them.

“I see,” Shiro says, and his upset is palpable in the air between them. “Well, don’t get yourself hurt,  _ Yorak.”  _ It stings, and even the softness in his next words does nothing to ease it. “We’d love to have you around again, and not just because we want your skills.” He shoots a look over his shoulder to where Kolivan waits expectantly. “We all miss you.”

“Yeah,” Keith says. He starts away before Shiro grabs for him again, shoving a small package into his hands. “What’s this?”   
_ “I  _ miss you,” Shiro says. “I miss the nights we stayed up talking while we cooked, so…” He shrugs, pursing his lips as a flush creeps over his cheeks. “Call it a parting gift.” He’s gone before Keith can say anything more, and Keith stares down at the sandwich until Kolivan calls his name.

“Let’s go,” the guild leader says. “We’ve got to plan the next floor sooner rather than later—we can’t afford distractions now.”

**

Close to midnight, Keith sits in his room. His chest is heavy, lips twisted in a frown as he considers the look on Shiro’s face. It’s not as though it was a good fight for anyone—plenty of players had swung their final blows, and that knowledge is hard on anyone. 

But the  _ hurt  _ when Keith had insisted that Shiro call him Yorak…

He reclines with a low groan, tossing one way and then the other before deciding sleep is out of the question and padding down to the small, barely-there kitchen. As usual, there’s next to nothing in stock, and he grunts in frustration before going back to dress and stalk out the door. He’s in Altea before he knows it—because where in dreary Daibazaal is going to be selling food at this hour—and prowling the streets, once again grateful for the way the city always bustles with activity.

“Tomatoes, tomatoes,” he mutters, so focused he doesn’t realize until too late he’s nearly bowled someone over. “I’m sor—”

“What are you doing here?”

Keith freezes at the soft sound of Shiro’s voice, stumbles backward before Shiro catches him. “What are  _ you  _ doing here?” he asks, like that’s any sort of answer.

“I know it’s been a while, but you can’t have forgotten I live here,” Shiro jokes sadly. “You, however…”

“I—”

_ Couldn’t stop thinking about you. _

_ Miss you. _

_ Love you. _

“I wanted some food,” Keith finally manages. “The soup I taught you. It...helps.” 

“With what?” Shiro asks, and of all the things he’s experienced over the last year and a half, those two words are all it takes to make his composure come crumbling down. 

Keith rushes forward to wrap his arms around Shiro, holding tight enough he hopes Shiro knows he’ll never let him go again. “Sometimes when I can’t stop thinking about you, I’ll make it so it feels like you’re near,” he mumbles into his chest. “I’ve missed you, Shiro.”

“Keith,” Shiro whispers fervently. His fingers dig into Keith’s shoulders and when they finally part, what seems to be hours later, he’s got the world’s sweetest smile on his face as he looks down. “You have anywhere to be in the morning? Any raids?”

Keith shakes his head.

Shiro turns him around, guides him forward toward one of the lit-up shops down the street. “Stay in Altea tonight,” he says. “We could make it together. You could—”

“What?” Keith asks softly.

“Well, I was going to say you could come...home,” Shiro says. He stops as Keith does, nearly colliding with his back, and rests his chin on Keith’s head. “Come home with me.”

**

After that night, Keith splits his time between the Blades and Voltron. Working in tandem, the two guilds continue to lead the rest of the players to victory. Two years, nine months, and seventeen days after the game began, Keith takes his first conscious breath. He takes his first steps a few weeks later, and no one is surprised when they’re toward the room down the hall occupied by a Takashi Shirogane.

No one’s surprised when they move in together just after their release from the hospital.

They’re somehow even less surprised when Keith proposes, and have given up feigning it when the two announce they’ve adopted a dog who will be their ring bearer.

The night before the wedding, Keith lays on their rumpled patchwork quilt and lets his head tip to the side, the tips of his fingers just brushing the curve of Shiro’s shoulder. It’s still a marvel, being able to touch the man who helped save them, and he doesn’t know he’ll ever get used to it. 

Kosmo’s tail thumps on the floor as Shiro stirs. “Baby?” he murmurs. “Something wrong?”

“I’m glad I met you,” Keith says, like he hasn’t said it countless times over the last three years.

It brings the same smile to Shiro’s face it always does, though now it’s colored with sleep and the unhindered adoration that comes only with 2 AM. The light of the city shines in through the blinds to illuminate the scar across Shiro’s nose and Keith’s suddenly overcome with the urge to skim his lips across it, so he does.

“Where’d that come from?” Shiro asks softly after he’s finished.

Keith shrugs.

“Keith…” Shiro drags out his name as he rouses to prop himself up on his elbow. “Tell me?”

“I was thinking about our first kiss,” Keith says. He ducks his head to hide the melancholy smile spreading across his cheeks. “Sometimes I still wake up thinking we can go back to the guild hall and do it again.”

Shiro’s answer is  _ I understand  _ and  _ let me help  _ all at once, his arm coming around Keith’s shoulders as he admits sometimes he wants that, too. “But I’m here now,” he murmurs, “and tomorrow I’m vowing to make more of those memories with you.”

“Can I have another one?” Keith says, nosing into Shiro’s cheek. “Just to be sure, you know.”

“I’ll kiss you as many as it takes.”

**

They marry, and as time goes on and the scars from the game begin to fade, one thing remains the same—on the days when life outside the world they’ve made with each other becomes too much, both know they’ll have something simple waiting for them. It comes in the form of that bowl of soup, lovingly recreated and warm as the adoration between them, and their own company as they sit on the porch and stare up at the twinkling stars. 

It’s comfort, it’s quiet, and most of all it’s  _ theirs,  _ until the last lights fade from the sky.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I see and appreciate all your comments, and even if it takes a while, I do my best to get back to them <3 You can also find me lurking and yelling about fictional characters on:
> 
> Twitter   
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>  Discord   
>  Facebook


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